


Where the Whispers Fall

by likecrackingwater (1thetenfootlongscarf2)



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6038821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1thetenfootlongscarf2/pseuds/likecrackingwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are taken like the people of Roanoke, and their dæmons followed behind.</p><p> </p><p>Bellarke Canon AU<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Whispers Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wanheqa](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wanheqa).



* * *

There was not time to argue, no time to scream. They had been on the ground for less than three days. When they appeared, with contorted masks and grunting noises, Jasper was still on the cusp of death. Narrah was curled around his neck. Her fur was damp with his sweat and she twitched and shuttered through his delirium.

Bellamy and Wells carried the stretcher. No one spoke as they picked their way up an invisible path. The others shouted to direct them. Octavia almost started a fight with one who was about her height. All she got for her trouble was a sprained ankle.

Some of the younger kids had to be carried. The sun seemed to beat hotter as the day waned. When it was overhead the others made them stop and handed out water. The skins gave the drink an odd leathery taste. Clarke choked some down before helping Charlotte. The small girl was cradling a frog, no bigger than a finger-nail, in her palm.

“Hello,” Clarke said to both.

Charlotte didn’t speak. The frog twisted into a mouse and skittered into her shirt pocket. It poked it’s head out. It had large, wet eyes.

“You need to drink.”

The mouse crawled up to Charlotte’s shoulder and whispered into her ear. Clarke could almost hear the mouse voice but she didn’t eavesdrop.

Finally Charlotte nodded and took the skin. After she was finished drinking she took off and attached herself to some of the other girls. They talked to her as they watched a bird do tricks overhead. Clarke picked her way over to Wells.

“How is he?”

Jasper didn’t move. His face was pale and sweaty. Bellamy kept wiping his face clean.  Wells sighed.

“Not good. One of them,” he looked at their captors, loosely circling the hundred, “put something into the cuts. I don’t know what it was, but Spacewalker insisted it wasn’t dangerous.”

Reha was an owl above them, her eyes narrowed in the light. She swiveled her head then fluttered down, landing clumsily on the ground. “There’s no way out.” Her soft hoots drew Bellamy over. Clarke hadn’t seen his dæmon yet. It must be a bug, or a snake. His sisters’ was trying larger things. Right now it was a small dragon with yellow eyes. It amused the younger ones by blowing smoke rings.

“Of course there’s not a way out.” His voice was hard. “They want us.”

“What good are we?” Wells gestured to the small crowd. “We’re kids. What do they think we’re worth?”

“We brought the drop-ship,” Clarke realized. “They know we brought the drop-ship.”

Bellamy didn’t looked pleased or impressed. He just nodded. “Right. This is a strategy.”

“Is letting Jasper die part of that?” Wells’ voice carried. Some of the others looked up. Clarke had the uncomfortable feeling that they might be listening. They looked human enough. But she had yet to see a dæmon among them.

“We need to be quiet,” she whispered. “If they can understand us…”

Jasper coughed hard. It racked his body, sent it almost writhing off the stretcher. When he rolled sideways he vomited blood.

“Shit.” Wells was kneeling down, checking to see if his mouth was empty.

Clarke was already moving his arms. “Is his airway clear?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Wells wiped his hands in disgust. “He’s breathing.”

“Good.” Clarke smoothed the hair on Japer’s head as Hunwin used his beak to move Narrah to the side.

He chuttered then hopped up Clarke’s arm. “Jasper had a fever. He’s too hot.”

“There’s not much we can do.” Clarke used her sleeve to wipe more sweat off his face. The others looked on. She wondered what made them like they were. They had no dæmons – could they be severed? Clarke shuttered at the thought.

One barked a command. Time to move again. Bellamy groaned and grabbed the handles of the stretcher. His hands were wrapped in cloth. Blood stained it. Clarke thought to ask about it, but his face was too blank. She helped one of the boys, Monty, get the hundred moving. Miller took Wells’ place. Charlotte had climbed on a boy’s back and fallen asleep. His dæmon was carrying the big-eyed mouse in delicate jaws.

Octavia fell in step with her. “What are we doing?” She sounded too calm.

“Walking.” Hunwin flew above their heads. Once he went too far. He perched on a branch and waited for them to catch up.

“I think I can go further,” he called down. The bright reds and yellows made him look like a beacon against the green that surrounded them.

“Alright.” Clarke sighed as he turned small and brown and tried to reach the top of a pine.

Octavia grinned. “He’s more adventurous than you are.”

“Oh, yes.” They dodged some sharp stones. Octavia’s dæmon flowed into a lizard, blending into the ground. “Yours – he seems quite comfortable.”

Octavia laughed quietly. “He turned into a bear earlier.” She saw Clarke’s expression. “A small one. These freaks didn’t even look surprised.” The lizard climbed up her pant leg. “We like being big.”

The lizard curled around Octavia’s neck and tasted the air. “Hello,” the voice soft. It hissed out into the air. “I’m Hannibal.” His eyes were gray with white slits.

“I thought you’d be Octavian.” Clarke joked. It fell a little flat. Hannibal smiled, as much as a snake could, but Octavia scowled.

“Bellamy named us.”

“Not your mother?”

The sound Octavia made could have been a laugh, but it was too bitter, too clotted with other things. “No.”

“I’m sorry.” Hunwin flew down, hooking claws into Clarke’s shoulder.

Octavia looked him over critically. “Have you always been a bird? Are you going to settle like that?”

“We don’t know,” Clarke said. His feathers tickled her cheek. “He’s been one kind of bird or another since we left the ship.”

“The air is better for flying in.” Hunwin shuffled as he spoke. He didn’t like addressing other people.

Hannibal tasted the air. He shifted into a small sparrow and took to the air. Hunwin followed with a shriek.

“Where is Bellamy’s dæmon?” Clarke asked with they were out of range. Octavia blew nosily thorough her noise.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen her.”

Clarke almost fell, she stumbled so hard. “What?” Hunwin wheeled above with surprise. She watched him whisper in Hannibal’s ear. It was frustrating that she couldn’t hear what they said.

Octavia shrugged. “I didn’t know it was wired. Maybe… maybe she’s just very small.”

“Maybe.” Clarke repeated. The path was becoming broader, turning into a ribbon of dirt that winded between the trees. The others kept silent watch as they marched on.

**

As night began to fall they reached a village. Bellamy was still carrying the front of Jasper’s stretcher. The back had a rotation of the strongest – Atom, Finn, a girl named Pamelia with a sneering bobcat dæmon with a torn ear – to help him. Clarke was carrying Charlotte on her back. The girl was only twelve. They were all unpracticed at walking but she was too tried to move.

Hunwin crawled through her hair as a large beetle. He clicked his wingcases and his sharp legs poked her scalp. “I think they’re people.”

“Who?” She whispered. Some of the others had vanished into huts. Most simply blocked the line to the path, knives held loosely. At the front of the group Bellamy and Pamela set Jasper down. Pamela’s dæmon kept sharp eyes on the Bellamy’s back. He didn’t have a wristband, he didn’t have a dæmon. Something about him made Clarke nervous. Wells jogged over and gathered the girl off Clarke’s back.  Reha was still an owl. Her large body seemed to blend in with the forest. Her face was like the white disk of the moon rising to the east.

“The others,” Hunwin repeated. His beetle voice was thin. She felt him turn into another bird. He was a goose now. Wells looked about the group. Charlotte’s dæmon was a squirrel clutching her braid. They woke up slowly.

“Where are we?” The squirrel asked.

“In a town,” Wells answered. “Look. There’s people.”

And there was, coming out of the huts. Men and women and even children. The others had removed their masks and they were human too. The others must be soldiers. Fighter with weapons and armor. A woman with a banded snake around her neck approached Wells and Clarke. She appeared stern, commanding. Hunwin reared his neck back.

She said a word and watched their faces. Then she spoke in English.

“Hello.”

Clarke stared in shock. Wells, ever the diplomat, recovered and said, “Hello.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Wells Jaha.”

“And this?” The woman gestured to Charlotte.

Clarke stepped forward. “I’m Clarke, and this is Charlotte. Where are we?”

The woman smiled. “We are the Tree People, Trikru. I’m Yeh’wa.” She ran her hand down the snake’s back. “This is Estan.”

“Hello.” It felt odd to address a dæmon, especially one she didn’t know well. “This is Hunwin. And Reha.”

Yeh’wa nodded. When she spoke again she raised her voice. “You are all welcome here Skaykru. You may go, in peace, to meet my people.”

Some of the Trikru approached first. They offered food – good food, not the rations or bitter berries the hundred had found. Clarke watched the mingling with apprehension. The girls were braiding each-others’ hair while some of the boys examined knives. Younger children were looking at the adults with wonder and a bit of longing. Clarke couldn’t imagine being torn from her mother with she was thirteen or fifteen. She was almost an adult and the distance felt almost impossible. Yeh’wa hadn’t moved far, and coaxed Charlotte to her with a hunk of bread.

“This may be good,” Wells said as they watched.

“Hmm.” This felt too easy to Clarke. What did these people want in return? The others, the guard, had removed their masks, but they had still forced them here. The only way they kept in contact with the Ark was on their wrists.

Except for Bellamy.

He was standing by Jasper. A tall Trikru man crouched over the boy’s still form. He was wrapping a dressing around Jasper’s chest. Bellamy had his arms crossed. His face was very still.

“Where do you suppose his dæmon is?” Hunwin’s voice was quiet.

“I don’t know,” Clarke said. It was disturbing. It was wrong.

Bellamy met her eye across the crowd. When he saw that she was watching he shook his head.

**

That night they were separated and slept in huts. The people on Earth made beds out of straw and layered animal furs for blankets. It was warm. Hunwin curled up at her feet. In the morning Clarke crept outside to watch the sunrise. It was a selfish pleasure, the chance to see the sun rise above the horizon and paint the world in color. She was surprised to see Bellamy sleeping outside, curled on the ground like an animal. Maybe he sleep walked. Hunwin was still a goose, now smaller and brown. He waddled after her with head held high.

“There was a reason they separated us,” he said.

“I know,” she hissed back. “Divide and concur.”

He just nodded smugly. Bellamy didn’t twitch as they approached. He looked too pale, his face creased in pain.

“Should we wake him?” Hunwin asked.

“I suppose so. That must be murder on his back when he wakes up.” Clarke shook Bellamy’s shoulder firmly. He muttered and rubbed sleep from his eyes. The world was still bluish in the shadows.

“What’s going on?” His voice was horse and cracked.

“You’re sleeping outside.” Clarke checked her watch. “It’s not even five.”

Bellamy groaned a stood on shaky legs. “I don’t trust them.”

“So you slept outside?”

“Yeah.” He looked over the town with a critical eye.

“Alright. I’m going to watch the sunrise, so…” she was almost tempted to offer but he started to walk away.

“I’ll walk the perimeter.” His voice was flat. Everything about his was controlled. Still. Unnatural. He vanished into the shadows.

Hunwin snapped his beak shut. “I couldn’t smell a dæmon on him.”

“You didn’t try very hard,” Clarke pointed out. “You’re not exactly a dog or something. You’re still a goose.”

“I think I like this.”

“You do?” Clarke couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Compared to Thom, Abby’s shining parrot, Hunwin seemed dull. Boring.

“I’m not settled though.” To prove it he shifted into a raccoon, then a vole. His tiny eyes shined. “We’ll miss the sunrise at this rate.”

“Oh, come on.” She scooped him up. He felt so delicate in her hands. For such a small animal he was heavy, and warm.

They watched the sunrise. In that time Bellamy circled the huts three times. Alone.

**

Lincoln was quiet. He had large hands and a kind face. Clarke could tell Octavia was smitten. Every time they passed the medical hut Hannibal would twist into a more exotic creature. Now he was an albino peacock. Some of the younger dæmons tried to pull a tail-feather as he strutted back and forth.

“This is good for deep wounds.” Lincoln pressed the moss into Clarke’s hands. “It must be dried, and the roots cut off.”

The moss was soft and yellow. It cracked between her fingers. Hunwin was a goose again, bulky and white with a bright orange beak. Clarke stroked his head. Lincoln’s dæmon was a fox. Clarke had never seen her dæmon so large. On the Ark you could be spaced for it. Dæmons didn’t need to eat or even sleep – but they did take up room. If yours settled too big it was grounds for a spacing. She used to have nightmares about that. That Hunwin would settle as an elephant. The Ark would tip dangerously. The guard would drag her from bed. Hunwin would be too big to follow and they would pull and pull until their limit was reached, until they were too far apart and the horrible tearing pain would start. She would pass out and wake up in the airlock alone. Mom and Thom would watch with solemn eyes.

“It’s for the good of everyone,” she would say, and press the button.

Lincoln showed her a spool of white-ish yellow string. “This is ligament – it’s good for…” he mimed sewing. “To close wounds.”

“Okay.” Clarke took careful notes on her pad. The people here couldn’t write but they still had the tools for it. Monty’s big mouth had her stuck here, staring at plants and strange oils. He was having a great time leading a limping Jasper about the small gardens behind each hut.

Lincoln’s dæmon huffed. He nodded back and stood. “I need to walk. Will you come?”

Clarke knew it was another distraction. Most of the kids had been given something to do. Some of the older ones were playfighting.  It looked a bit more fun that what she was up to. As they ducked out of the hut Octavia fell in step with them.

“Nice day, isn’t it?”

“It’s great.” Clarke replied. Hannibal glared at her and twisted into a haughty hunting dog with pointed ears and a curled tail.

Lincoln just nodded. They watched the practice for a while. Most people ignored Bellamy. Clarke found herself watching him. She saw she was not the only one. There was an old woman with an odd goat dæmon. He was shaggy and had four horns. There were beads and feathers twisted into his fur, red markings on his face.

“That’s Sheya and Gunma.” Clarke honestly wasn’t sure which name belonged to which. “She is a shaman.” Lincoln tapped his skill and drew a circle in the air above it. “She can talk to the spirits. The lost one,” he gestured to Bellamy, “can as well. That is why he had been abandoned.”

Octavita looked offended on her brother’s behalf. “He’s not… he hadn’t been abandoned.”

Lincoln stroked the coarse fur of his dæmon. “Then why is he so alone?”

Hannibal showed his teeth. Octavia’s hands curled into fists. “You don’t know the first thing about us!” She stormed off, Hannibal snapping at things in the dust she kicked up.

Clarke watched the old woman approach Bellamy. He listened, she guessed, even though his face showed nothing. Finally he nodded and followed the woman into the forest. They disappeared between the trees, man and crone and goat. After a moment it was like they were never there. If Bellamy hated these people so much why would he follow one into the woods?

“Are you worried we’ll run?” Clarke asked Lincoln. He tilted his head back, like he could see the stars through the blue of the morning.

“Can you run back into the sky?” He asked.

“No,” Clarke said. She realized that it was the answer to both questions. Hunwin trembled next to her.

**

It was three months until her dæmon settled. It happened when she was eating lunch, crouched outside of a hut. The heat of summer tanned her skin and lightened her hair. Hunwin was sifting through the straw when she felt it. Clarke met his glassy eye. She could read the surprise there.

Shouting cut through the moment. There was no time to wonder about it – inside one of the hundred argued that he didn’t have a broken leg. To prove it Walt had attempted to walk to the door. Harper had caught him before he fell, her dæmon Tall nervously shuffling his quills in the corner. Walt’s face was pale and sweating. The splint held through his lame attempt but they needed to get him back down soon. He felt feverish where Clarke touched him. She hoped it was just the stress. Hunwin watched from the doorway.

She gave strict orders to his dæmon to keep him down. It was one of the strange Earther things – talking to other’s dæmons, sharing a bed with three other people to keep warm, bathing in the open.

She threw the rest of her food into the compost. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

**

Octavia was spinning a knife on her hand.

“I’m going to be a second soon.” Her teeth were white on her muddy face. Clarke grunted as she tugged a tuber free from the ground. The sharp edges of the cattails cut her palms. Hunwin swam circles on the lake. He was far, but no too far. The warriors, the gona, had dæmons that knew how to hide. The woman Octavia wanted to follow had a scorpion. Lincoln had explain it best. You need to know not what to look for, but where. “What about you?”

“I’m already busy enough,” the root was slippery as Clarke dropped it into the basket. “I have no idea how Lincoln kept up before we came.”

Ovtavia didn’t look up as she helped. Hannibal was a raccoon, using small hands to inspect the pile next to her. “He didn’t.” People died on the ground in ways they didn’t in space.

Clarke felt the intent before Hunwin vanished under the water. Octvaia jumped to her feet in shock.

“Hunwin!” Her voice echoed off the aspens. Hannibal threw himself forward, twisting into a fish.

Clarke grabbed her arm. “It’s fine.”

“It’s fine?” Octavia’s voice was shrill. “He’s a bird! Birds can’t swim!”

“Penguins can.” Clarke almost laughed.

“He’s not a penguin! I’ve seen vids – I didn’t grow up under a rock,” she tried to follow Hannibal into the water.

“He’s a cormorant!” Clarke tugged her back. “He can swim underwater – look.”

On the water Hunwin preened. Hannibal swam closer. His small mouth opened and closed. Then he tilted his little head and copied the other dæmon. He was bit duller in color. Octavia was still upset then.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t. We figured it out on our own.”

“Oh.” Octvaia was squinting at the two birds. Clarke knew she was trying to imagine Hannibal settling as a bird. “When did you know?”

Clarke shrugged and ripped another root free. She would have to cut her nails soon. They were getting too long.

“Tall settled.” The way Octavia tried to sound flippant was almost sad.

Clarke knew. Everyone did. Harper had cried for days after. She had always been quiet and curled in to herself. It must be hell then, to be associated with him now. Clarke remember how Tall liked to be quiet things for Harper - hares and frogs. Bellamy said Tall was a short-faced bear. Animals that had been extinct for millions of years. Settling wasn’t fully understood. Nothing about dæmons was. They could to massive or miniature. Anything that swam or ran or crawled. Clarke’s father would tell her that they were the souls, the conscious of each person made physical. He once read her a book about a man who hated the water but his dæmon settled as a albatross so they crossed every ocean in the world. At the end of the book the man drowned and his dæmon couldn’t save him.

The basket was full in a few minutes. Bugs swarmed them as they stumbled back to shore mud slicking up to their knees. Octavia grunted when she walked too fast. Clarke saw the flicker of panicfearpain cross both their faces. Hannibal scrambled to Octavia’s side. He shifted into an apologetic dog.  They looked at each other before she sighed and patted his head.

Clarke heard Hunwin splash towards the bank. His coast was glossy. He choked up a fish. The scales stuck to Clarke’s hands. Its gills struggled in the air.

“Dinner,” his wings shuffled in the sun. She ran a hand down his neck.

“Thanks.”

Ahead Octavia and Hannibal argued about the chance of him settling as a mouse.

**

Bellamy was followed by the old woman’s goat. Clarke didn’t see her anywhere though. Just the man and the goat, pulling tomatoes from the vines. Finn and Wells were beside him.

A thought struck her. Maybe this was his dæmon. Maybe he was no longer shy.

Reha called to them from the top of a fence. Her head swiveled to watch the men work. Hunwin preached next to her. They talked to each other softly. Clarke leaned on the wood and watched them. The goat was talking to Bellamy intently. Wells paused and waved at her. Clarke waved back.

Next to her a kid tried to lick her fingers. She played with its ears. Finn abandoned his work. As he jogged over his dæmon flowed over the ground. She was an arctic fox. All the older hundred were settled by now. Octavia argued with Lincoln about Hannibal’s form for a week. She thought a dog was subservient. He thought they were loyal. Clarke thought Hannibal didn’t look much like a dog at all. He looked too feral.

At night Octavia would cuddle him close regardless.

“Hey.” Finn was always grinning, but she had seen him once staring at the Ark, the bright false comet that crossed their sky at night. He was sadder than he let on. His dæmon had seemed to glow in the darkness next to him.

“Hi.” The fox wound around his ankles. She had a sharper wit then him, but less humor. She only blinked up at the birds above her.

“So,” he handed her a tomato. It was warm from the sun or his hand. It was sweet and juicy when she bit into it. “Bellamy’s injured. He won’t talk to anyone about it, but you should check it out.”

“Why?” Clarke chased some of the juice running down her hand with her tongue.

Finn cleared his throat then dropped his voice, leaned in. He looked concerned. Nervous. “It’s his head.”

“What!” Clarke looked over quickly. “Has he been dizzy? Seeing double? When did this happen?”

Finn shrugged. “Ages ago. His hair is starting to grow back. I just saw it when he bent over.”

“Okay. Okay. Get him and his dæmon to Lincoln’s hut. I’ll meet you there.”

Finn grinned and scrambled away. Reha clicked her beak.

“I don’t like him.”

“He’s fine,” Clarke fed the rest of the tomato to the young goat. “He’s just lonely.”

“Hmm.”

**

“You didn’t come.”

Bellamy was sitting on the ground. His hair was dusty. She didn’t understand why he still slept outside. The blue of the pre-dawn made him appear washed out. She looked for his dæmon but couldn’t see her. Hunwin curled next to her and sighed back into sleep. Bellamy watched him with an ugly, hungry expression.

The goat was not there. He kept fiddling with something tied to his belt. It looked like a bracelet, a short length of leather with three small white disks.

“I heard you were injured.”

He looked at her and frowned. “Really? Spacewalker is a gossip.”

“It’s not gossip if it’s about health.”

“Then what is it?”

“Information.”

He barked a laugh. Hunwin cracked open an eye.

“Can I see?”

Bellamy leaned forward. There were three thin scars, white now and carefully stitched. “What happened?’

“I was looking for something.”

Clarke carefully felt the edges of them. There seemed to be some slight fracturing. That could have been serious. Even led to a brain bleed. “Who took care of this?”

“Sheya.” He grunted as she poked the softer areas harder. The bone was fine. Hunwin clambered in her lap to take a better look.

“What were you looking for?” His hair was soft. She finger-combed it so it hid the scars. Bellamy clenched his hands. “You didn’t leave it on the Ark?” The joke fell a little flat.

“No.” He gestured to the woods. “She’s out there.”

“Who?” She knew, she knew and her heart was hammering in her chest. Hunwin pressed himself to her. Bellamy watched them. Then Hunwin surprised her by running his beak along Bellamy’s hand. His fists relaxed. “What happened?”

“We never wanted to be big.” He picked up a stick and drew meaningless lines in the dirt. “And hiding Octvaia was like hiding ourselves. She was never big but after I almost never saw her. She stayed in this pocket.” He tapped one on his shirt. “When Jasper was injured…”

“You went looking.”

“Yeah. There was a fog. It wasn’t natural. It was like nothing we had ever seen. It was caustic, so we ran. It was gaining so I crossed this creek and ahead was this…” he struggled to find the words. “It was all dead, Clarke. All the tress were burned and the ground was just dirt. It looked like a clear shot so I took it. But she,” Bellamy lashed out, beat at the ground they were sitting on. “I was so scared I kept running but she couldn’t follow. It was like there was a wall but the fog was gaining and then something tore.” He swallowed so hard Clarke heard it. She felt ill.

“Tore?”

“Something stopped her and it tore us apart. It snapped and I watched her run.”

Clarke scrambled backwards. “You severed yourself?” Her mouth tasted sour. Hunwin was honking in fear. She clamped his beak shut.

“No,” he was struggling to his feet. “She left! She left me! I came out of the dead place and she was gone!” Bellamy looked wild. He must have been hiding this the whole time. “I can still feel her but we’re not us anymore. I don’t know where she is or how she’s doing. And is she dies out there –“

“You’ll die here.” Clarke felt panic clawing its way out of her chest. “You’ll just drop dead. Who knows?”

Bellamy pulled at his shirt. “Sheya.”

Clarke could feel Hunwin’s breath over her hand. She let him go. He shook himself then gave Bellamy a critical look.

“Have you searched?” His voice trembled. They all ignored it.

“Yes.” Bellamy ran his hands through his hair, tugged it harshly.

The dawn was painting the world a bloody red.

“I’ll look with you,” Clarke offered. “I’ll help.”

Bellamy’s face twisted between hope and disgust. “I don’t need help.” His voice was a growl. “I don’t need you. I need her.”

She watched him walk away.

**

Charlotte was sporting a tangled mess of braids. She giggled as Wells tried to sort them out. Her monkey dæmon was picking through Reha’s feathers. The flames danced up to the sky. Sparks seemed to try and join the stars that glittered above.

“I’m glad you two are getting along.” Clarke said.

It had taken weeks to get to this point. Charlotte was a wreck at first. She raged at Wells, at the Earthers, at the hundred. Her dæmon would tear his fur or feathers out. Then Bellamy pulled her aside. Clarke watched them talk through the night. Now three people knew Bellamy’s dæmon had left him. Sometimes Charlotte’s dæmon would turn into something too big – an elk, a wolf – and stand next to Bellmay. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed. Once Clarke saw a panther with gleaming eyes lick his cheek before shifting into a butterfly to alight, trembling, on Charlotte’s hair.

“I think you have an admirer,” she pitched her voice low. Bellamy looked at her. His mouth twitched slightly. The bonfire was lit in the day. The Earthers opened up a goat in front of it, Sheya chanting in a high wordless voice. Now it was the middle of the night and no one had retired. Bellamy had helped the shaman skin the goat and now the pelt, not yet stretched, lay over his shoulders. The leather strand on his belt now had a loop of copper. It looked like something that should be tied to Sheya’s dæmon.

“What’s this?”

He let her touch it. The white disks were almost cool. The texture felt familiar. Then she saw the fissure, where the cartilage had turned to bone.

“Is this…” she dropped it quickly. What had Lincoln done, only weeks after they arrived? A shaman, he had said, then made a small circle above his skull with a finger. “Is this part of your head?”

Bellamy shrugged. “It’s supposed to open my mind.”

“Oh, God.” The horror and absurdity gripped her tightly. “That’s not funny.”

He ran his fingers over the fur. It was a mottled brown. She wondered if it reminded him of his dæmon, if she was ever soft and small and brown.

Hunwin was nestled in her arms. He was warmth near her heart and Bellamy was warmth next to her. He reached out slowly. Clarke could have stopped him, if she wanted to. Instead they held very still as he stroked Hunwin’s back.  Clarke could feel something catch light in her chest. Something settled, something moved into place. It was good.


End file.
